8
Rick stood on the edge of the property, the hot Californian summer sun beating onto his head as he shielded his eyes and peered through the empty window.
“I thought you said you own this place,” Olivia said behind him. “Why are you acting like you’re going to break in?”
Rick put his hands down and pulled the key from his pocket. “Making sure everything is as it should be before going in.”
“You scared of squatters?”
“Hardly.”
The old key went into the older lock, the satisfying click that said it was opened reverberating in the stale air. Rick opened the door to his mother’s old dance studio and braced himself for dust and stuffy heat.
He hadn’t been here in nearly half a year. He didn’t like coming very often. Sometimes he thought about selling the abandoned studio, preserved in time from when his mother died, but that felt like an insult to her memory. If he had the money to maintain and pay taxes on it, then why wouldn’t he? A developer would take this property and do what everyone else did to the neighborhood. Gentrify and get rid of the last bit of culture remaining in a neighborhood that once belonged to a vibrant but now forgotten Hispanic community.
“So you grew up here, huh?” Olivia said, stepping into the studio and surveying what it had to offer. “Homey.”
“We lived in an apartment a few blocks from here, but I spent most of my childhood in here, so yes, you could say I grew up here.” Rick closed the door behind him and proceeded to open a few of the windows to let fresh air in. Or as fresh as the air could get around there. “I should probably do something with it. I’ve thought about renting it out, but I don’t really trust anyone to treat it with respect. Meanwhile, I don’t have time to start my own studio right now.”
Olivia squinted in the bright sunlight glaring through the now opened windows. The other side of the studio was still dressed in shadows, but the photos hanging on the wall told a story that lasted all the way from the early ‘90s. There were letters, some in Spanish, some in English, and many in neither that expressed adoration for Angelina and the small studio she kept for most of Rick’s childhood. “Who’s this?” Olivia asked once in a while, pointing to a man, a woman, a group of people passing through and posing for a picture. Few of those people were famous now, but Rick could pick out certain musicians and regionally celebrated dancers who made names for themselves after getting introductory lessons from Angelina. Even Olivia recognized a name or two when Rick mentioned them.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” he said, sitting on a bench by the wall, “but twenty years ago this was a happening place.”
“Holy crap!” Olivia pointed to one picture on the far end of the wall. “It’s you!”
“Uh huh. That’s Salvador Juarez. He’s actually related to José. Second cousin or something.” He pretended he couldn’t hear Olivia squealing over child Rick’s puffy kid cheeks or his gangly limbs. “I learned a lot of dirty jokes from that guy. Apparently that’s the side of the family with all the humor.”
“You were adorable.”
“Excuse me, were?”
“I’m sorry. You’re still…” Olivia stopped in front of another picture, her bushy hair pulled back into a thick ponytail that bristled with every movement. I like running my fingers through that hair. Sometimes he would hit an unexpected snarl and make Olivia yelp in pain. She always thumped him for laughing. “Who’s this? He looks really familiar.”
Rick glanced at the photo and shrugged. “Some guy named Tomás, if you believe the note on the back. I dunno. That was taken before I was born. Or at least before I can remember.”
He pulled a box of old dance trophies and ribbons over, perusing the names and accolades while Olivia muttered something by the photo wall. Rick heard a click but paid it no mind. He was too focused on a red ribbon hailing a student #1 in the region at the rumba.
There was no particular reason he brought Olivia there that day. Rick had been feeling nostalgic ever since they returned to America a week ago. Technically on vacation, Rick and Olivia had spent most of that time sleeping in their respective homes with a few texts here and there. It was Olivia who finally suggested they meet up, and Rick took her up on the offer – with the stipulation that he got to plan the day.
Lunch, a tour through a local neighborhood where unfortunately someone recognized him and they had to bail, and then an escape to a nearby paradise he once called home. Well, it wasn’t paradise anymore. Most of the old, colorful buildings had been torn down and replaced with empty parking lots or condos that nobody really lived in. Summer homes for internationals. This studio was one of the last bastions of local culture from twenty years ago. Back when people still cared about dance lessons.
“It’s nice,” Olivia said, although Rick could hear her struggling to find something kind to say. It’s okay. It’s a pit. I need to do something with it. There was one thing on his mind, but he didn’t want to think about it until his phone started buzzing with a text message from Fiona.
He waited until Olivia was looking through a box of old, dusty records before reading it. “Thought you might be interested.” It was a picture of a sonogram.
There were a hundred possibilities that the black and white blur he looked at was his kid. I’m too young for this. Rick sat up on the bench and stared out the window, where an empty road meandered to the abandoned studio. Even though I don’t know if it’s mine yet. He also hadn’t told anyone about it. He didn’t want to wait until the paternity test happened and it said it was him. Somehow, he had begun to accept this fate.
Olivia blew some dust off an old record and took it to the large player on the side of the room. “Can I?” she asked, popping open the record player before Rick responded.
“Sure.”
The melody of an old rumba recording filled the air. Rick recognized it from his mother’s collection. What would she think of me having a kid? She would be delighted, not judge Rick for knocking a girl up. She wouldn’t have had any room to talk. Rick could hear his mother quipping now. “It’s in the family. My parents had a shotgun marriage, you know.”
Olivia stood in front of him. “Dance with me.” Rick had to quickly make the sonogram go away. “Or are you too tired?”
He was never too tired to dance. Not with someone like Olivia, who was always willing to put her hand on Rick’s shoulder and lead him to the center of a floor. It seemed weird to not dance with her now that the tour was over.
Rick was at a crossroads. Before, he wanted Olivia. He still did. Except before had been all about his jollies, having fun with whomever wanted to have fun with him, and making a mess of his life. Sure, he didn’t do drugs or party too hard like others in the business, but he could be as foolish as the rest of them.
If he were going to be a father, he had to become more responsible. Even if Fiona didn’t want to pressure him to marry her – because what a great marriage that would be – he still intended to be a better father than his was. At least, maybe, there. While Rick wouldn’t fault his mother for doing the best she could, he always wondered what it would be like to have had an actual father growing up.
Becoming more responsible didn’t leave much room for foolhardy pursuits. Like women. His hypothetical child needed him to be serious about relationships. If not with Fiona, then at least with a woman who could make a good stepmother. And who knew? Maybe have more kids together down the road. I never really thought about it before. Rick hadn’t thought about many things, most of them regarding his responsibilities as an adult.
“What’s up with you?” Olivia asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and enticing him to kiss her. Rick couldn’t hold himself back. He planted one kiss on her lips, then another, and then soon enough he became lost in Olivia’s world of escapist pleasure.
What is this fling? He wasn’t serious with Olivia. Perhaps they could be, one day, but…
Rick pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure if this is a good idea anymore.”
Olivia lowered her arms to her sides. The rumba record ended. “What do you mean by that?” Her countenance was braced for pain.
“The tour is over. We said we would talk about what we wanted to do after that.”
“Now?”
It had to be now. Rick would lose his nerve otherwise. “I’m sorry, Olivia, but there’s a lot on my mind right now. It’s not you… God, did I just say that?” He laughed, uneasily. “I like you. I like you a lot… but I don’t think I should be focusing on a relationship right now. With anyone. Even something casual like we’ve been keeping it.”
Her nose twisted and her brows furrowed into a scowl. “Are you dumping me? Here? Now? You brought me to your mother’s studio to dump me?”
“I’m not dumping you.” Had they even been dating seriously enough for it to be dumping? “I need a break. That’s all.” At least until he found out whether or not the kid was his.
Olivia gaped at him, disbelief seeping from her pores as her hands went to her hips and she adopted the air of a woman scorned. Good job, jerk. “Wow. Just wow. So I guess I was your tour ho in the end after all.”
“I never thought that.”
“Who cares! It’s what people would think if they found out.” The tranquility of the studio was shattered when Olivia shouted like that. She had a good set of pipes on her. Rick wondered if she could sing. Now’s not the time. “You’re a piece of work.”
“I’ll call you when things settle down.”
“No. Don’t bother.” Olivia stomped toward the door, and for a fleeting moment Rick felt a level of panic he hadn’t experienced since his first solo dance performance years ago. “I had the right feeling about you since the beginning. It was a mistake to get involved with someone from work. Damnit! Why do I never listen to myself?”
Rick didn’t have a chance to explain. Olivia opened the door and stormed out, her wild hair blowing in a dry breeze as she cursed Mother Nature for messing up her carefully combed style.
Alone in the studio, Rick had no idea what he had done. All he knew was that there was a sonogram on his phone, no music in the air, and a hole the size of his disappointment – for all of his success – in his heart.
What had he done?